First meetings
by Paralelsky
Summary: Chapter 4: Meet … the Rival. Until HE appeared there were just the two of them: Scraps and his Dean. But now the human's attention was wandering. Sequel to "Bit of trouble"
1. The Parent

**AN: **So I dipped my fingers into the Supernatural fandom, and what do you know? I kind of liked it. In fact I like it so much that my muse just starting sprouting ideas like weeds. So in order to protect my poor mind from the assault, there you have it: the next adventures of Dean and his kitten. Which will be known from this day forward as **Scraps_ - _**thanks to the reviewers that pointed out that while I was still undecided, Dean had taken the matter into his own hands and name the little critter. As for its breed, well there was one suggestion of an ocecat - really interesting concept, but I think the one I've chosen in the end will work...for the best? XD

**THANK YOU to all my reviewers for "Bit of trouble". Here is the sequel. :D**

**Warnings**: a bit of swearing and fluff. I think that's it. Oh and UNBETAED, still...unfortunately.

**Spoilers: **AU for season 6, before the brothers reunite.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I'm just taking the characters for a fun ride a.k.a as fanfiction.**

**Summary: Dean decides that he will keep his hitchhiker as a companion. How would the others react to that bit of news? "Bit of trouble" sequel. **

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><p><strong>Meet … the Parent<strong>

When the banging on his front door rose him up from his nappi…_ reading_, Bobby Singer met his current visitor with mixed feelings. It was heartwarming to see the younger man looking, if not well, at least not on death's door; but also squeezing his stomach with an iron fist was dread. He'd heard the promise Dean made to Sam: about retiring and giving a try to the apple-pie life, so four months ago, after Sam's disappearance, he had thought they were saying goodbye for good: no more visits just the awkward phone call once in a blue moon or the holidays - whichever came first.

So to grab the older Winchester and get him back into hunting, it had to be big, whatever _it_ was.

"A rusalka, Bobby. Or something like that. Dad's journal doesn't have too many details on it and I want to stop it before it gangs another young man."

_Ok, so maybe not so big, or earth shattering. Just their garden variety monster of the week. _

"What are you doing back in this life, boy?" the holy water test proved at least the hunter was not possessed, but unfortunately it didn't point out insanity.

"I couldn't …Bobby I tried, but I couldn't."

And that was something Bobby knew and could understand even though he's wished better for the young man he saw as a son. Yet, there was still something Dean wasn't saying. So Bobby steeled his resolve and grabbed the figurative bull by its horns:

"Boy, what are you hiding?"

"Nothin' Bobby. What makes you say that?"

Bobby didn't need his twenty plus years of hunting to know Dean was lying, because the younger hunter did his best to resemble a twelve-year-old with a secret: the fidgeting, the slightly awkward stance, the not so subtle small bump under his leather jacket. The older hunter sighed quietly in his beard and leveled a hard stare from where he stood behind the desk on the younger man, keeping it up for a long moment until Dean cave in and with a determined move opened his jacket and…

"Bobby, this is Scraps…my cat" …showed a small furry grey silver tabby right under the older man's nose.

"Meow?" the kitten looked half awake and slightly bewildered from having been yanked from its safe and warm place and now dangled in front of an equally bemused hunter.

_Well damn. _Bobby had to give to the kid that - this was the last thing he'd been expecting.

"Picking up strays, now?" somehow he had regained his voice, while Dean took back the cat and gently cradle it in his arms, shoulders hunched a little while looking at the floor, looking for all world to see like a boy expecting a scolding. And Bobby was more than qualified to give one, thoughts like:

"_Aren't you a bit old to be doing that?" _

Or maybe the voice of reason: "_Dean, you're a hunter, there's no way to keep a pet while doing that." _

Or just: "_Why pick up cat? Shouldn't a dog be more useful?" _

_- _ready to be delivered loudly to the dejected figure in front of him, when a half-forgotten memory of a similar scene drove its way into his mind. Eight-year-old Dean cradling a small puppy while John Winchester pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes and demanded in a non-nonsense tone that the child put it down and get back to his weapons training.

So maybe some childhood longings never truly left, they just got buried under the weight of adult responsibilities. Bobby himself had a few, similar regrets.

_And what the hell, the boy was old enough to decide for himself, _so Bobby just took a sip from his Irish coffee and gruffly stated "Well put it down, you idjit. This research wasn't going to do itself." And pretended not to notice how Dean relaxed his pose, a small grateful smile making a quick appearance before disappearing under the hardened hunter mask.

xxxXxXxXxxx

Sometimes later, while taking a break from reading, Bobby got up from his chair, mixed himself another coffee, not doctored this time, and settled down on his couch to better study the latest critter attaching itself to one of the infamous Winchester brothers.

_Hm, let's see: nice muzzle, large triangular ear, longish fur - bet Impala will be a bitch to clean from its shedding, big paws for a kitten. I wonder if that's the same as for puppies._

"So, do you at least know its breed?" Bobby took a sip from his coffee and nearly swallowed wrong and started coughing when Dean replied carelessly: "Yeah, the vet called it a Maine Coon. Bobby are you alright?"

Bobby waved the concern away and put down the cup before asking: "'Ain't that a breed of really big cats? Dean, you sure about it?" but the young man just shrugged it off, far more interested in the paragraph he had just discovered that was finally shedding some light on his current hunt. After all why should he worry? Seriously, just how big a _normal_ cat could grow?

To be continued

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><p><strong>AN<strong>: Next is...**Meet ... the Bad! **Interested? XD


	2. The Bad

**AN:** So, the first chapter was angsty fluff, this one looks like action and fluff and I wonder how the next one will pan out. **THANK YOU** TheSorrowfulVampress and llLethell for the lovely reviews, I'm dedicating this chapter to you. :D

**Warning: angst, brief mention of sexual activities (nothing graphic),violence and Dean's mouth – meaning some f* and b* words. ;)**

**Summary: Chapter 2: Meet …the Bad. Now that Dean has "parental approval" for keeping his furry friend, he goes back to what he does best. Was that really a good idea? Sequel to "Bit of trouble"**

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><p><strong>Meet … the Bad<strong>

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Long dark hair that framed a heart shaped face, dark eyes, flawless skin and a killer smile. Not to mention the body that had curves in all the right places and those legs…_Dude_, she could probably wrap them around him more than once.

So the obvious question should have been: what the hell was a girl like that, doing in a half empty bar from a God forsaken little town in the Midwest? But he was still buzzed with adrenaline from a successful hunt – another fuggly bit the dust just hours before – and those three beers he'd already had didn't help his judgment too much, because he went and smiled, watched her smile back and with a sure gait and cocky smirk took the stool next to her and offered to buy her a drink.

Half an hour later they were stumbling into his hotel room, mouths locked in an air consuming kiss, while he struggled with her jacket and she pushed him non-too-gently into the bed. Then she straddled his hips and immediately latched their mouths back together, and as much as he loved a woman that took charge, his mind wasn't so far gone to not realize that something didn't follow the usual plan. Like the fact that instead of excitement coursing through his body, it felt more like lead was being pumped out straight into his veins. Or that his vision was steadily graying on the edges.

_Just how tired was he that he couldn't enjoy a hot chick practically doing all the work?_

"Silvia…honey…" he tried to say between life stealing kisses "maybe…we…should…leave this for another night?" and made a move to stop her when she practically _growled_ and her grasp on him became painfully tight.

_Holly shit, when did she start weighting a tone? _He wondered when she didn't move an inch no matter how hard he bucked, and by that time the first tendrils of panic curled around his gut a strange thought crossed his mind: _Why_ _was a teakettle hissing next to his ear? _

His answer came when a yowling streak of silver grey fur suddenly latched itself on the woman's face causing her to back away and wave her arms comically for a moment, before she yanked one hissing and spitting kitten with freakish long fingers, and send it sailing across the room, where it hit the wall with a muffled _Thud_.

The horrible noise cut into the haze blanketing his mind, and whatever enchantment the creature had used like a knife and Dean could suddenly see her exactly as she was: greenish skin, hair moving like it was alive, holes for eyes and a cavernous mouth open wide. Faster than a bucket of cold water, the sight raised the hunter from his stupor and sent him scrambling for the nearest weapon. He barely closed his fingers on the knife he usually kept under his pillow, when the creature was back to straddling him. Intent on turning him around so that she could get back to sucking his soul through his mouth, she forcefully grabbed his right shoulder and yanked hard. And Dean just went with the flow, stopped resisting, and let the momentum carry his elbow right into her cheekbone.

The creature screeched and jerked backwards, the opening he'd been planning, and the hunter pounced, knife sure to find its target right into the side of her neck. Black blood, smelling of mud and dead fish, splattered him as she trashed in a futile attempt to get away, but he held fast using his own body as leverage to pin her down on the floor, not relenting until the monster stopped twitching and began to liquefy into a dark puddle staining the dirty carpet.

"Consecrated iron, you fucking bitch." He spat hoarsely, the crash from the adrenaline spike hitting him hard. Stomach rolling unpleasantly, Dean took deep breaths to calm himself, and rested his back against the edge of the bed as he felt lead returning to his limbs, this time due to exhaustion. He almost closed his eyes when an important memory flashed in his mind and dread mixed with fear gave him enough energy to stumble to his feet and sent him searching for where the she had hurled _his cat._

"Scraps, where are you, buddy?" he called for it, his fears for the worst abating a little when he found no broken body at the base of the wall. Still the kitten was nowhere to be seen, so that meant Scraps had hidden somewhere dark to lick its wounds, which would have been the norm if it weren't for the fact that _the stupid cat could die_ if Dean didn't find it soon.

So with a groan and a muffled curse when his right shoulder painfully protested the move, Dean knelt on the carpet and started looking under all available furniture. The bed had nothing under except for a veritable army of dust bunnies, but the three legged armchair in the corner hid a miserable looking furry ball. The cat was all the way to the back, and he didn't have the energy to move the piece of furniture, so Dean lied down on his belly and slowly reached for the kitten. Letting out a relieved sigh when Scraps didn't put any fuss, he grabbed it gently and brought it into the cradle of his arms. A pitiful half meow was his answer while he prodded it lightly to assess its injuries and Dean felt a renewed wave of anger for the creature that had dared and hurt his cat. He wished for a moment that it wasn't dead, just so that he could go and kill it, again and again.

But first things first: "Come Scraps, let's go see Doctor Doolittle." So he wrapped the kitten in the Metallica t-shirt it had claimed as its own, and broke the speed limit while driving to the nearest vet. And only after the doctor reassured him that there was nothing serious with his cat, he suddenly remembered the spectacular bruising he'd felt forming all over his body after the hunt, newest additions notwithstanding, so while completing insurance forms, he popped two painkillers in his mouth from the stash he always carried in his jacket.

He was signing his current alias, when he remembered a tiny bit of lore that Sam had shared with him back in the days when hunting also meant the _family _business, something that he hadn't believed at the time.

_Cats were the guardians of the underworld. _

Well, if that was true then he probably got the best of them on the job.

To be continued.

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><p>Next: <strong>Meet … the Good.<strong> Castiel, anyone? Your creative responses are always welcomed. :D

*I'm aware that the Maine Coon cat's usually described as "a gentle giant", loyal to its family and great with small children and even dogs, but I believe that any cat, no matter what a sweet disposition it may have, can be aggravated to the point of attacking. And let's face it, attacking _HIS _Dean? I think that was aggravation enough.


	3. The Good

**AN: THANK YOU! **to all of you who reviewed this baby. I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter because I had a blast writing it. But I should probably warn you right now: **FLUFF ALERT! **

**Rating: T **(just one mention of a naughty kitten :P)

**Warnings: **fluff, a bit of swearing and Dean - because his sheer presence in any fic deserves a warning.

**Beta: Yes and Finally! **the lovely and talented **llLethell ** was gracious enough to give this chapter some much needed cleaning. Thank you so much dear! All remaining mistakes are my own because I couldn't keep my hands and not rummage a bit after she gave it back.

**Summary: Chapter 3: Meet … the Good. Scraps is good to have around in a hunt, he's proven that already. Except for when angels come to visit – then things go a little 'hairy'. Sequel to "Bit of trouble"**

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><p><strong>Meet … the Good<strong>

Dean Winchester has always been a man of action. Even when doing research. Still he could never reach the stillness that was the embodiment of a reading Sam. No, he had to drum his fingers on anything available, rub his chin, or bounce his leg under the table to unconsciously release energy until something or someone snapped him out of his research induced focus and complimentary headache.

Kind of like what was happening right now.

"Scraps, what are you doing?" The kitten tried its best at looking as innocent as possible while guiltlessly standing by his right leg. Except the image was slightly ruined by the white tatters sticking out of its muzzle, which Dean had the sneaking suspicion had come from cuff of his frayed jeans.

"Spit that out. You don't know where I've been walking." He tried to take away the kitten's prize, but the only thing he got in return was an irritated muffled growl and a nibbled thumb.

"Stop, you demon cat!" He gently tapped the kitten's nose which caused it to close its eyes and flinch subtly; it apparently learned its lesson though, enabling Dean to finally take away the last of half chewed threads.

Scraps didn't look pleased. And the human hunter wondered if it was the grave dirt as a seasoning that made his clothes irresistible to his cat. But no, he knew what the real problem was. The young cat was bored and demanding attention in the only way it could when all other attempts yielded no results. And perhaps taking a break wasn't a bad idea after all, just to stretch his muscles and get rid of that annoying tension that had taken permanent residence in his shoulders. How Sammy had managed to stay hunched over the computer hours at the time, Dean would never know.

Dean passed his hand over his face, stopping a moment over his aching eyes and swallowed, quickly chasing the thought away. While remembering Sam had become slightly easier since he'd taken back the life on the road- and strangely after getting the annoying cat- it still hurt like hell to think about the brother he'd lost.

God, he was becoming maudlin in his old age. Time to change the channel then and focus on the present, who was now giving him that sort of chirruped mewling that Dean still found funny no matter how many timed he heard it coming out of his own cat. So the mighty Dean Winchester closed his laptop and went in search of his secret weapon- also known as the multi-colored floppy thingy on a string that Scraps absolutely loved to pounce on.

Yes, his cat had him wrapped around its furry tail - sue him.

That's why he didn't react except to blink a bit owlishly, and look like the kid who got caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar, when with a slight breeze and a whisper of fluttering wings, Castiel the angel of the Lord, appeared only one foot away from where Dean was sitting on the floor and playing with his cat.

But no, the rugged hunter didn't do embarrassed, because that would be too girly. And he definitely did not spring to his feet nervously dusting his jeans, because one can never tell what was on those motel carpets.

No sir, he got up as cool and manly as possible.

On the floor, Scraps happily chewed on the prey he'd finally captured.

"Hey Cas. What's up? Everything alright?" He asked a bit apprehensive because the angel had left him alone so far, as per his own request. So Dean was dreading what kind of trouble the world would be getting into; trouble that needed a heavenly messenger to be sent to the chosen warrior. He wasn't being cocky, it was experience that told him he had every right to have such a worry.

"I'm fine. How are you?" Castiel responded in his usual reserved way and Dean felt his eyebrows climb their way to his hairline.

Angels, especially this one, didn't do anything without a purpose and they usually cut the chitchat, diving immediately into the heart of the problem. So if Castiel was making just a visit that meant…well, that meant that Dean should try and be a gracious host.

"Sit down, Cas," Dean gestured to the edge of the single bed and then he turned around and headed to where the small motel fridge was making an awful lot of noise. But it did keep the beer cool and the leftover pizza from getting bad, so the hunter didn't complain about it. "I've got beer and…water. So…which one do you like?" Dean asked while sorting through the bottles piled inside the fridge. "Cas?" When no one answered him he straightened and turned around, only to have his eyebrows do the whole getting-to-know-his-hairline trip once again.

Because sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, there was a disgruntled looking angel with a lap full of squirming kitten. And it looked like Scraps was having the time of its life- turning and twisting, and paws kneading the air or just rubbing its muzzle on the angel's trench coat. All the while purring loudly.

"Uh, Cas…Can you tell me why my cat is acting like it's high?" Dean just couldn't resist the opportunity to tease.

"Dean." The angel sounded almost pleading.

"I mean the little guy is obviously enjoying himself down there."

"Dean."

Uh, huh…Maybe getting Scraps away would be wiser. So the hunter quickly tried to pry away the kitten from its spot only to have to stop when Scraps unsheathed its claws and hung onto the angel's clothes with mewling determination.

"Just how attached are you to this trench coat, anyway?" Dean tried to joke but the glare Castiel sent his way was answer enough. With nimble fingers the hunter unhooked the clinging kitten and then gently but firmly held it in his arms, away from temptation.

"Do you want to tell me what happened here?" Dean asked, lips twitching slightly into an amused grin. Clearly Castiel did not, if the faint embarrassment that was swiftly hidden under the angel's customary lack of expression was anything to go by. The hunter was even prepared to press his query further, but then the angel had to go and answer him without a fight.

Cas was no fun like that.

"It's the Grace. It attracts innocents, children and animals to my presence when it is this muted." Then without even a goodbye, the angel disappeared, leaving Dean to wonder what the heck was all that about.

"Cas, my friend, we really need to work on your people skills. As for you buddy," Dean lifted the little troublemaker until its half opened green eyes were on the same level with the hunter's hazel ones. "We don't pounce on angels and molest them anymore. Got it?"

"Mreow?" Scraps purred loudly, twitching an ear back and forth while the tip of his bushy tail flicked lazily.

"Right, I'll just have to keep you away when he comes for a visit then."

And suddenly Dean started to chuckle, imagining the reactions he would get if he went around and said that the mighty Sheriff of Heaven needed Dean Winchester's protection from a fur ball menace disguised as a cute kitten.

To be continued...

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><p>Next: <strong>Meet … the Rival<strong>! Guess who is going to finally appear? :D


	4. The Rival

**AN: **Missed Scraps and Dean? Here they are!

**Warnings**: fluff and a bit of angst. What?

**Beta: **the most awesome** llLethell. **Thank you for your time, patience and nagging! All remaining mistakes are my own because I can never resist meddling with a finished product after I get it from her.

**Spoilers: **AU for season 6.

**Summary: **Chapter 4: Meet … the Rival. Until HE appeared there were just the two of them: Scraps and his Dean. But now the human's attention was wandering. Sequel to "Bit of trouble"

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><p><strong>Meet…the Rival<strong>

Steam billowed around him as Dean leaned on the open bathroom door, surveying the scene in front of him.

_They were at it again._

His little brother and his cat locked in a staring contest.

Sam sat on the bed, laptop open and whirring and clicking while perched on his knees; but for all the attention it received, the machine might as well have been dead. Scraps however was huddled on the table, paws tucked under its fluffy body, eyes big and unflinching, as it tried to stare down the younger hunter.

Dean winced, and sighed. At least this time the cat had remained in the open and not gotten itself into some dark corner, hiding as it was prone to do when left alone with Sam. Whatever his brother had done to it, and Dean hadn't found any evidence of foul play, nor had he been looking really hard – _this was Sam for Christ sake_ – Scraps seemed to barely tolerate the man.

It was strange though, as far as he could remember, animals had always flocked to his brother's side: kittens and puppies and all that. Throughout their childhood, every other week Sam would perfect his pleading look as he would ask his father to let him keep the latest critter he'd saved. Dean would know as he had been there for more than his fair share of teary aftermaths when the invariable answer had been: _No, you can't keep it. _

Sam had always been soft like that. Not like his badass older brother_. So, why was Scraps acting out? _

Jealousy? That had been Dean's first guess. After all, the cat and him had been alone on the road for quite some time, visits to Bobby notwithstanding; the sudden constant presence in their lives must have shaken it. Yep, the cat must be feeling insecure as their small universe of two shifted and expanded, and some fight for territory – namely himself, and that didn't that make Dean feel weird, _not one bit_ – was to be expected. But two months after he finally got his brother back, things should have been finally hashed out and resolved, so they could become one happy family. Yet, after all this time, Scraps still acted like there was a big, bad predator on the loose in their room whenever Sam was near.

And Dean could barely believe himself that he was trying to psychoanalyze his cat, but once started, his thoughts on the subject followed their well trodden course. So jealousy was out, but what else remained? Maybe there was something going on deeper than that?

Dean silently shook his head trying to clear his mind, and then he entered the room. Gently, he grabbed Scraps from his perch and placed it on the floor. The cat didn't go away from him, twining around his legs while he looked for a rag to give a good swipe at the table - they still had to eat, and he wasn't very happy at the thought of cat hair in his take-out food. On the bed Sam returned to his internet search without commenting and Dean's inner radar made another bleep at his brother's uncharacteristic silence.

Just another thing he was trying hard not to think about - how much Sam had changed in less than a year since they've been apart. Still, in the case that the current cold war between Sam and Scraps were to degenerate into something else, and Dean were to be forced to choose between his brother and his cat, there was no contest of whom he would pick.

So hoping they would pull it through, Dean let them be, first amused, then aggravated, and finally suspicious as more and more signs pointed to the fact that there was _really_ something strange with Sam.

And after they killed Veritas and Dean sat down with bruised knuckles and a bleeding soul, looking at the beaten down form of the thing masquerading as his Sammy, the hunter noted somewhere in his mind that maybe there was a reason that cats had been associated with the goddess of truth. And perhaps he had always known what was wrong but he hadn't wanted to admit it. Scraps wandered onto his lap, and Dean stroked his fur absently. He still didn't want to admit it.

Tbc...

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><p><strong>AN<strong>: Next is...**Meet ... the Brother! **Interested?


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